


The Unfortunate

by eag



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Europe, Extremely Dubious Consent, Love, M/M, Mortality, Sex, Sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:44:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/pseuds/eag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armand avoids talking about his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unfortunate

“Tell me about your master.” 

So he was asking again. Armand tipped his head slightly, listening for the quiet whirr of a tape recorder and was surprised to hear nothing this time. Doggedly inquisitive, Daniel would patiently bide his time for weeks building up to these questions waiting for the right moment and trying every trick he knew about interviewing on Armand. Silence, patience, leading questions, opening himself up to build rapport...he had tried everything at least twice.

Armand let Daniel wait for a long moment before turning to him. “I don't think it's wise for you to ask me this.” He rested a hand lightly on Daniel's knee, but Daniel didn't seem to notice. 

“Is it right to call him that?” Daniel tapped his chin thoughtfully, running his fingers over the scant blond stubble that clung to it. “I want to be sure I have the terminology right.” As though he didn't already know.

“Yes, it's appropriate. But I'd rather not...”

“The way I recall, I was told that your master waited until you were a grown man. And you were technically an adult by Renaissance standards, right?”

“Daniel...”

“But you don't really look full-grown to me.” Damn that blunt modern way of speaking. But he knew Daniel didn't mean any insult; it was just that he was unabashedly direct.

“I think your friend Louis spared some details to spare my feelings.” Armand's jaw grew tight. 

“Spared details or lied?” Daniel reached for his pocket instinctively, then realized he had no cigarettes. Armand had made him quit after they left Italy. Irritably, he stood and paced. “Because sometimes I think there were things that he wasn't very honest about.”

“Such as...” 

“I don't remember exactly. I'd have to go back through the material again.” Not that Daniel hadn't – Armand had found copies of clips of the recordings mixed in with Daniel's music collection, labeled tapes that bore titles such as 'Armand's past' and 'Armand Existential Crisis Parts 1-3' or 'Armand is a Ninja.' Daniel had thought himself clever to hide them in plain sight, as if there was anything of Daniel's that could be hidden from Armand.

“Then let it go.” Armand caught Daniel by the wrist, drawing him back down toward the couch. “Come, you promised to take me to the opera.” Petulantly. It often worked; Daniel was easy to manipulate, often falling for the simplest of ploys like a wistfully tilted head or the shimmer of expressive eyes.

“I know. But...it's important to me, all right? We never really talk.” Daniel let himself be guided to Armand's side, and he took Armand's hand, patting it in his casually friendly manner. “We're always so busy doing things and running around. I want to know who you are...what made you what you are now.”

Armand met his eyes slowly, knowing the effect it had on Daniel. “What made me what I am now?” He let a hard note of anger slip into his voice; it wasn't difficult. “Another vampire. Isn't it obvious?” And he could hear the little twist of Daniel's internal organs as a jolt of fear ran through him.

Afterwards, he felt just sorry enough to let Daniel take him to the opera.

****

Deterred but not dissuaded, Daniel stayed up late, going over the tapes again in hopes of finding clues he had previously missed. Eventually, he noticed that the sun had come up over the ocean, gilding the tips of every tiny wave of the calm Mediterranean with its pale autumn light. Finding no new insights, he took a cab down to the Ritz and ordered an American-style breakfast; it had been a long time since he had pancakes and bacon and a fresh cup of hot coffee. 

Coming back to the apartment that Armand had rented, he spent a few hours writing in his journal before finishing up with some quality time with the Atari before bed. It was always hard to sleep with the sun blazing through the windows, but he pulled the shades closed and covered his head with a pillow until he dozed off to the sound of birdsong and distant traffic.

He heard Armand come in but clung stubbornly to sleep, trying to keep the threads of his dream intact. What was it about again? Some dream of wandering through gray city streets, trying to find...

Cool hands cradled his head, and drew him up. He mumbled a sound of protest, and felt Armand's lips on his forehead. “Armand...come on, I need a few more hours.”

“You can sleep in the car.”

“Car?” He pulled away and returned to the warmth of his pillow. “Where are we going?”

“Up to the mountains, remember?”

“No, you never said anything. So clean and pack the telescopes and come get me when you're done...”

“No. It's not that. And you must wake up, this is important.” Strong arms wrestled him out of bed, stumbling with him into the bathroom, the cold tiles underfoot jarring him awake as Armand tugged off his boxers and pushed his sleep-muddled body into an already-drawn hot bath.

“Armand.” Daniel yawned, rubbing his eyes. “You know I hate being fussed over.” 

“You say that all the time.” Armand ran his hand over Daniel's jaw, trying to decide if he should shave him. “I would like you to know where we're going tonight.”

“Does it matter? You take me wherever you want me to go.” Daniel stretched in the bath, before sitting up and grabbing a block of soap, rubbing it over himself briskly. 

“Perhaps it doesn't matter then.” Armand gently guided his head down, running warm water over his hair. His sharp eyes caught a few threads of silver-white mixed into the ash blond. He rubbed a dab of shampoo into Daniel's hair until the soapy suds concealed everything.

“You don't have to do that...” Daniel sighed, easing Armand's hands away. “I can finish up, all right? Just give me ten minutes.” 

“Fine.” He rinsed off his hands by trailing them through the water and sat on the edge of the bath watching Daniel intently. It was always a little mystery that Daniel was so companionably disinterested in him physically, unlike most other men he had known. Not that Daniel wasn't affectionate; only, it didn't come with the edge of sexual tension, of desire. The thoughts never even seemed to cross his mind.

It was curious, and he had mentioned it before. But as he recalled, Daniel's answer had been blithe:

“Well, I thought you guys were sexless.” And had left it at that. 

“Daniel.” He looked up as Daniel stepped out of the bath, dripping water. Tall and with the last vestiges of awkward adolescence fining off of him, Daniel was built lean. His features were strong and handsome, but he was on the thin side, unattractive by the standards Armand had known for most of his existence. He was built more along the lines of a gangly peasant; the only thing approaching aristocratic about him was his height.

“Yes?” Daniel glanced down as he toweled himself off. Tiny droplets of water clung to his long dark lashes and dripped from the tips of his water-darkened hair.

“Come here...” And Daniel's eyes took on a sheen of excitement. He knelt dutifully before Armand, shifting muscles delineated beneath the skin due more to slenderness than strength. 

Armand leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of Daniel's mouth before turning Daniel's head slightly to the left. “Just a taste...”

And he could hear Daniel's heart beat a little faster and the breath catch in Daniel's throat as he sank his teeth in, sending a cascade of conflicting emotions through the young man.

Armand took his time, feeling Daniel's body warm to him, feeling it fill with the yearning he hadn't had on his own, but in the end, Armand only took a sip. 

*****

Daniel wandered around the party, nursing a gin and tonic and wondering when he could go back to the apartment. Armand had secured them an invitation to yet another interminable party full of interminable people who mostly didn't speak English. He wandered around nodding politely at insincere greetings before heading out onto a balcony. Dodging tempting windswept clouds of cigarette and cigar smoke, he made his way past a kissing couple to the stone railing and looked out over the city.

A shock of disorientation went through him; he suddenly realized he had no idea what city they were in. All he knew was that the view from the mountaintop villa was beautiful, and that the city below them was spread out like a blanket of twinkling sodium vapor stars, geometric constellations bounded by the regular symmetry of streets.

He stood there silent for a moment, feeling his heart thump through his body so loudly he wondered if everyone around him could hear it too, until gradually the tension eased and the chatter of the guests and the clink of wine glasses brought him back to reality.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Armand had wandered over to see if he was all right. Daniel shrugged back at Armand and waved him off. I'm all right, he mouthed, as though Armand couldn't just pick the thoughts straight out of his head.

He spent the next few hours flirting awkwardly and outrageously with a tall elegant woman who he knew would not have given him the time of day but for the fact that he was wearing hand-tailored Lanvin and smelled of Guerlain. Even then though he knew she was out of his league, he figured he'd give it a shot. Besides, even though she barely spoke English, she was charming enough and did she say she was a dolphin or something along those lines...

“Dauphine. Heiress to the French throne.” Daniel half-turned, hearing Armand's voice in his ear. Daniel was sunk low in a leather couch, knees bent haphazardly higher than his hips, head resting on his hand. Apparently he had dozed off; the party had died down and the lights had been dimmed. Servants with trays floated by, flickering candlelight reflecting and warping through golden flutes of champagne.

“Not a dolphin.” Daniel could hear the smile in Armand's voice, and he looked up. “She's a terrible liar. The last French dauphin is an old man and not really a dauphin.” 

“Couldn't there be others?”

“Dead before I was born. Mostly.” Armand murmured in his ear, a pleasing velvety sound that made Daniel smile. 

“Oh?”

“Yes.” Armand came around the couch and offered him his hand. “Come with me. I'd like you to meet my new friend.” 

Daniel sighed and let Armand draw him up. Usually this meant several hours stifling yawns while Armand and whoever this new 'friend' was stayed up half the night talking about things he didn't care about in languages he didn't understand.

Armand led him back into the depths of the villa, through hallways lit only by the cool moonlight pouring in through age-warped glass-paned windows. But the darkness didn't bother him; it never did anymore, not with Armand at his side. 

They ascended a staircase hidden behind a false wall; an unusual motif. Daniel wondered if it was a servant's stairwell until they reached the top.

The first thing he noticed was the warm scent of woodsmoke and the crackling of a fire; he was drawn to it before he even noticed his surroundings. Everything here was to a smaller scale than downstairs; there was a pleasant intimacy to the dark wood-paneled walls and the heavy carpets underfoot covering the stone floors. Beyond, doors lead toward shadowed rooms whose shapes were only hinted at by the faint glow of distant candles. 

“Daniel?” 

“Oh. Sorry.” He turned at the sound of Armand's voice.

“I'd like you to meet the Viscomte.” 

Tall, taller than Daniel even, built broadly and with short-clipped pale blond hair that caught notes of reds and oranges from the glowing fire, the Viscomte had a squarely handsome face and dark eyes. He seemed pleasant enough, though the way he looked at Armand reminded Daniel of many of Armand's other mortal 'friends' – men with hungry eyes that made Daniel uncomfortable on a deep-seated level. Fortunately, whatever protective feelings he might have for Armand was trumped by the fact that he knew Armand didn't need any help fending off unwanted suitors.

They shook hands, and Daniel had the distinctly strange sensation of having his hand totally enveloped by this strange man's hands. He even kissed Daniel's cheeks in the affectionate European style, something Daniel had never gotten used to. Daniel flinched a little, and the man only smiled, amused by his provincial American manners.

Armand continued with the introduction, and Daniel promptly forgot every word. Armand would forget about the man within the week, moving on to another place, another city, another 'friend'. In the meantime, they would talk while Daniel had a drink and took a nap. It was worse than school. At least this time he could tune it out and not have to sit there pretending like he cared; the Viscomte didn't speak English.

Drinks were poured, glasses were clinked, toasts to health were made. Armand held his glass with poised carelessness as he and the Viscomte wandered off to talk. Daniel stayed by the fireplace, warming his hands with the radiant heat and his internal organs with the pleasant burn of scotch. 

Time passed. He remembered he had sneaked a book into his suit pocket, but then remembered that Armand had confiscated it because it interfered with the drape of his coat. He found a bookshelf, but the books were all in French. He explored a little, finding a lavish bedroom with heavy wooden posts and real hangings; something that he had only seen in museums and photographs. He found a large marble-tiled bathroom and washed his face out of sheer boredom. He wanted a cup of coffee, but contented himself with another glass of scotch.

Finally, drowsy and drunk, he sprawled out by the fireplace, feeling the warm glow on his cold limbs. He knew it would probably be better to lie down on the nearby divan, but it was too far from the fire and besides, he didn't really care what anyone thought. 

Armand would take care of it, he thought, as he dozed off.

He didn't know how long he was asleep, but eventually he felt strong arms helping him upright. “Armand...” he murmured, but he didn't open his eyes. He felt the warmth of the fire fade and the cooler air of a different room, glowing with the honey scent of beeswax candles.

Hands helped him out of his suit, unbuttoned his Dolce and Gabanna shirt. “Better...better let me hang that up,” he said drowsily, but he didn't move to help, just swayed a little on his feet as he fumbled with his belt.

Careful fingers deftly undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants, helping him out of it. And he sighed slightly, feeling the cool air prick his skin. A slow, deep breath and he slowly began to realize that this was not Armand; this was the scent of sandalwood and linseed oil and a faint hint of musk.

A warm hand slid down his hip, easing him out of his boxers and he opened his eyes, confused. 

“What...” Before him stood the Viscomte, shirtless and blond hair mussed. Daniel looked around, too confused to panic.

“I'm right here, Daniel.” Armand smiled at him as he entered the room, sitting down on a nearby chair.

“Armand, I...” And then Daniel looked up just as the Viscomte tilted his chin up, catching him in a deep kiss.

He didn't know what to think. Things were happening quickly; within moments he was on the bed, flat on his back, socked feet churning against the cool white sheets as something deep inside of him said to relax, to let it happen, that it would be all right.

He wasn't sure he liked this, the feeling of being crushed by another man's body, a hungry mouth with the scratch of stubble wandering over his skin, big hands that stroked him and fondled him and sent strange shocks of feeling through him. But it would be all right, after all, didn't it feel good anyway? Why not? It wasn't bad and besides, Armand was there...

“Armand...” Daniel murmured, turning his head toward where he knew Armand was sitting. 

Armand met his eyes, smiling faintly as though amused.

Strong hands turned him over onto his stomach, and he moaned softly, feeling the cool sheets under him. “Armand...” He tried to push up, but the Viscomte held him down, a weight pressing down against him from behind that seemed to nearly crush the air out of him.

Relax, Daniel, it won't hurt, just relax and let yourself go, you'll like it just let it happen there's nothing to be afraid of let him take care of you just let go...

That insidious voice was a soothing litany inside him, and he felt his legs parted and something slippery was going into him and then there was pain and there was an unnerving sensation that everything was wrong and that he needed to get away but the voice was so deep inside of him that he couldn't tell where he began and where the voice ended and yes, pain and pleasure all mixed together and he felt his voice coming in strange gasps and groans, choking sounds he had never heard from himself as the Viscomte's hand wrapped around him tight and he jerked up against the man and came with a cry.

Lingering kisses at the back of his neck and the Viscomte began to move again and suddenly Daniel realized where he was and what was going on, as though he had only been a passenger in his own body up until just that very second. Daniel's eyes widened, and he began to struggle, but it only strengthened the man's ardor, moaning breaths coming hot and quick against his ear.

“N...n-” He tried to protest but found he couldn't, and the sounds that came out of him sounded too much like pleasure and maybe they were.

Suddenly, he was being pulled up, up onto his knees and he felt himself impaled more deeply and he cried out from the shock. He tried to pull away but gravity and the Viscomte's strong arm held him firm. Opening his eyes, he saw Armand before him, watching from the chair with inquisitive eyes. Eyes fluttered from the sensation as the Viscomte drove in deep, and when he looked over again, Armand was before him.

“Daniel.” And those eyes, those mesmerizing eyes that he could have stared at for the rest of his life, brown and warm in the low light, holding him in thrall.

Armand... The word didn't pass his lips; he was beyond words and then the touch of a cold, cold hand on his cock but this time, it was Armand's hand and Armand's lips against his throat, those sharp fang teeth sinking ever so subtlety into his skin, and he knew he had lost whatever battle this was or could have been when he came with a groan in Armand's hand.

After that, he lost track of time. It seemed that the night might never end. Only just before dawn, he felt a cold hand brush his hair back from his forehead and it slowly drew him back to consciousness. The Viscomte was asleep, his arm a leaden bar against Daniel's chest, pinning him down.

“Daniel.”

“Armand...what...”

“Shh.” A finger pressed against his lips. “I want you to be good, Daniel.” The cool touch of Armand's lips against Daniel's forehead, and he was gone, faded away like the last lingering trace of a dream.

*****

Days passed. What started as a mystery slowly turned into deadly turmoil. Armand was gone, and Daniel had been left behind. He was used to being on his own; it was nothing to him, but this was different. He hadn't been so much left on his own as given to the Viscomte.

The man was gone most of the day. Daniel had no idea where he went, other than that it was somewhere away from this mountaintop villa. He explored it as best he could, but for the most part he was confined to a few rooms; the downstairs salons during the day, the upstairs suite at night. Servants took care of every little need he might have, but for letting him out or speaking English. He grew to learn a few words in French, mostly words that had to do with what the Viscomte wanted from him, nothing he could use in polite company.

Over the course of the first few days, he realized he had read about situations like this; lurid, tabloid stories of young women kept as sex slaves. But he wasn't a young woman and he never thought anything like this could happen to a man. It was obvious that he was being treated as though he were a fashionable and expensive toy. The Viscomte had a servant that tended to Daniel's grooming, he even had new clothes made for Daniel, things that he could not possibly wear outside of the upstairs suite; things made of silks or leathers or satin that he flushed with shame to put on.

And then there was the nightly ritual. It seemed that the Viscomte could not get enough of Daniel; he was insatiable. They had done everything that Daniel had imagined could happened between men, and some other things that Daniel didn't know could happen between men. What began with Daniel being sick with shame and confusion turned slowly into routine and acceptance; it was nothing he could stop and nothing he could speak against, no matter how much he wanted to or tried.

“Be good, Daniel.” The words seemed to sit like an anchor deep inside of him and there was nothing he could do but obey.

Sometimes he wished he had remembered more of what Armand had to say about the Viscomte. The only thing he really knew about the man was that he spent one entire evening painting a portrait of Daniel, invitingly nude, some sort of motif on a dying Adonis. The painting disappeared for a few days while it cured and was framed, and came back to hang in the upstairs suite. Daniel could not look at it.

But the worst was not the Viscomte alone, it was those nights when he invited a select friend over to sample the wares; to play with this new American toy that was so obedient and yet so physically expressive. At least, he imagined that this was what they talked about but all he knew was that the Viscomte made him meet his gaze as his friend fucked Daniel, wanting to see Daniel's expression as he came in the Viscomte's hot hand.

Over time he grew to know that the Viscomte was not an unkind man nor a cruel one; just one who didn't seem to know that Daniel could not say no because he was completely unable to. Whatever they did in bed, the Viscomte was tender afterward, attentive and gentle It strengthened the conflicting feelings deep inside Daniel. 

During the day he paced the floors, wondering when Armand would come. Muttering to himself whenever he had a moment alone, sometimes cursing Armand under his breath and other times begging for Armand to come take him away. But the thoughts seemed to fade as time went on.

One day he saw a calendar, and realized how long he had been there. Gradually, he sank into despair. 

*****

Daniel woke one bright winter morning to see the Viscomte was adjusting his tie in the mirror. He was surprised; the man was usually gone before he woke up. The Viscomte noticed him stir and came over, sitting beside Daniel. He stroked Daniel's cheek with his thumb and pressed a kiss to his lips; gentle and warm. It made something stir deep inside of Daniel, a strange longing that he could not quite understand or articulate.

He spoke softly to Daniel, and with gestures, made Daniel understand that he should get cleaned up and dressed. A new suit was hung up nearby; the Viscomte helped him into it while he was still faintly damp from the shower. It was nothing like the conservative cut suits that Armand liked to dress him in; it was a little flashier and a little more modern. The tie was a deep rich violet, and the Viscomte adjusted it with a grave eye, carefully shifting it until it was symmetrical.

They breakfasted together, eating freshly baked bread, poached eggs, and fruit. Daniel couldn't help looking up every now and then over his cup of coffee, curious as to what broke the usual monotony. Soon, they finished and Daniel was escorted into a chauffeured car that took them down the mountain to the city, ending up at the airport.

After so many days in isolation, every little thing was exciting; the bustle of the city around them, the blur of different languages, the fine mist of rain that came down and beaded on Daniel's pale hair. With a little start, he noticed that the Viscomte had his battered passport, but it didn't seem to matter. The novelty of everything that had once been mundane left him giddy and overwhelmed. He had to be gently guided away from looking at the shops and even at the people waiting in the terminal.

Jolts of memories crashed through him as he sat down with the Viscomte in first class; he kept looking over to see if it really wasn't Armand beside him. But no, they were having cocktails and fancy little plates of smoked salmon with capers and dill on toasted bread. The Viscomte would eat one and then feed him a bite. Suddenly he realized that it had been a long time -- years in fact, since he had been in the company of someone who had needs like he did; for food, for drink, for sex, and for sunlight.

It was snowing by the time they arrived at Paris. A private car took them to an apartment down a narrow street lined with tall stone buildings. 

He spent the gray afternoon flipping through design books while the Viscomte was in another room down the hall, conducting business over the phone. The rooms were tall and grand, the walls cream and decorated minimally. A fire crackled in the stone fireplace; he sat cross-legged on the heavy Persian carpet laid out before it, comfortably toasted by the heat. Outside, the snow brushed past the rough bark of the skeletal trees as it fell to blanket the ground.

He was so intent on the books that it took him a while to notice that the Viscomte was watching him from the doorway. Daniel got up on shaky legs, straightening out his clothes, slightly rumpled from travel and sitting on the ground. But the Viscomte didn't seem to mind, he merely opened a nearby coat closet and selecting a long black wool coat, gestured for Daniel to come over and put it on.

It was a fairly good fit, of an old-fashioned cut, a vintage coat that had obviously known good care. Soft leather gloves were in the pocket and he pulled those on. The Viscomte put on a dapper fur-lined coat himself, and they left the apartment. Walking through the snowy streets, they steadied each other on the slippery pavements. Daniel had no idea where they were going, but the adventure of the walk through the snow made him nearly lightheaded with happiness; he laughed as his foot skidded along an icy patch, righting himself just in time to avoid a collision with a street light. He made a snowball with a handful of snow and threw it at the Viscomte, who was momentarily stunned into silence, but then laughed before letting loose a string of bemused French.

They didn't go very far before they arrived at a little restaurant that the Viscomte escorted Daniel into gracefully. The lights were warm and amber-hued and immediately Daniel knew why the Viscomte brought him there; everything around the man was lit naturally and pleasantly. It made him like the Viscomte a little more.

They ate in companionable silence with glasses of wonderful wines that Daniel savored by the sip in a way that he never did before. In the restaurant, he realized how elegant a figure the Viscomte was, how charming and gracious he was to the people around him, how poised and confident he was as he spoke. About halfway through the meal he decided that it was a terrible shame he didn't speak French. 

But seeing the way the Viscomte interacted with others gave him a little shock, realizing that this whole time he had been with the Viscomte, the man had in his own way been showing Daniel off to the others around him. A strange sense of pride ran through him at the thought. Later, he would say to himself that it was the drink talking. After all, he hadn't drank in some time, not more than a glass of wine with dinner, and tonight it seemed that the wine went straight to his head, leaving him pleasantly tipsy.

On the way back to the apartment, the wind picked up, swirling snow through the street in white torrents. Shivering, Daniel pressed close against the Viscomte as they walked. The Viscomte unwound his scarf and wrapped it around Daniel; it was warm around his neck and face, heated by the Viscomte's body. 

As they stepped into the foyer, the Viscomte brushed long fingers through Daniel's hair, sweeping off flecks of melting snow. Daniel shivered; the Viscomte took off their snow-dusted coats and abandoning them on a bench, drew Daniel in for a heated kiss that seemed to go all the way through him, like a shot of the best whiskey.

Daniel felt his body respond, fill with yearning for the Viscomte's hands. It seemed that not so long ago he would have said those hands were strange and uncomfortable, but now he readily responded to every caress. 

The Viscomte drew him down the hall, kisses tethering Daniel along like a chain. There was a fire burning in the fireplace in the bedroom and the heat of it made Daniel moan as he stood before it, letting the Viscomte undress him with deft fingers.

His skin felt cold under the Viscomte's hot hands, but he warmed up quickly, feeling himself grow hard under the Viscomte's clever fingers. He drew the Viscomte to the bed before they had even finished undressing, bumping his hip against the wrought iron frame before stumbling back onto the mattress.

Daniel sighed, feeling the Viscomte's familiar weight on him. Even now it was getting hard to think of a time before this. Whatever he was seemed to fade away, leaving only a him that existed purely in the moment. 

The Viscomte murmured in his ear, soft endearments in a language he couldn't really understand, and he sighed as the Viscomte undid his tie. He caught Daniel's wrists, looping the tie around the iron frame of the bed before coiling it around Daniel's wrists and tying them with a loose knot. Daniel tested it; it would have been easy enough to slip out if he wanted to but he realized he didn't want to.

The Viscomte pressed kisses down his chest as he unbuttoned Daniel's shirt, one careful kiss after another, before folding the crisp white shirt open like the pages of a book. The Viscomte moved to undo his own tie and in a fit of inspiration, he slid it off from around his neck and wound it around Daniel's eyes, blindfolding him.

Daniel shuddered. It had been a familiar game back at the mountaintop villa, but here it seemed different. Here he wasn't straining against padded handcuffs that held him firm; here he wasn't muted to all light; he could still see the shifts and motions of shadows just below the edge of the makeshift blindfold. 

The Viscomte moved his hands over him, and Daniel lost himself to the moment, to the stranger inside him that he had discovered in these months that he had been the Viscomte's. He felt himself arch up yearningly when the Viscomte stepped away briefly, only to sigh with relief as the Viscomte's body crushed him to the bed and crushed out cries of pleasure from him.

Soon enough, he was panting, slick with sweat and limp from pleasure. The Viscomte stepped away; he knew from experience that the man would come back with something to drink for Daniel. He would cradle Daniel up in his arms and press the cool edge of a glass to his lips. They would rest a while, and it would begin again. 

Daniel half-dozed, content, watching the shadows move underneath the edge of the blindfold and hearing the soft tread of the Viscomte's footsteps on the hardwood floors, little creaks and shifts as he moved across the floor. He heard the distant sound of a glass being filled and licked at dry lips with anticipation. 

He must have dozed off. Later he imagined it was only a few seconds but he honestly never knew how long it was. The crisp snap of glass shattering jolted him awake. 

“Viscomte?” Immediately, he felt an icy wind gust in through the door and the sound of the fireplace guttering. The heat of the room disappeared almost instantly, and the light dimmed as the candles blew out. He struggled to sit up and pull off the blindfold, but fatigue had left him clumsy and he couldn't seem to untangle his wrists.

“Viscom-” And a cool finger pressed against his lips. Surprised, he jerked back violently.

A cold hand slid up the side of his face, tugging off the loose blindfold.

“Shhh. It's all right, Daniel. I'm here.” Armand. Daniel felt his heart lurch in his chest. Here he was, after so long. So long that Daniel had almost stopped thinking about him. So long that there were days when he wondered if he could still remember those brown eyes, that curling auburn hair, the touch of those strong limbs against his own. 

“Where's the Viscomte?” Dumbly, he found himself asking that as Armand leaned over him to loosen the knot around his wrists. 

“Does it matter?” Armand sounded unnaturally casual. “I'm here now, to rescue you.”

“Rescue me from what?” Armand pulled him up with an easy motion and he felt himself lurch forward, off-balance. It had been so long, it seemed, since this had last happened, since he had felt that unnatural strength as it moved him with or without his will. 

“From him. From your evil master.” And Armand's mouth moved in a bitter twist as he grabbed Daniel's clothes and thrust them at him. “Get dressed, we're leaving.”

“But Armand...” Before he could protest, he felt Armand's hands on him, urging him into his clothes.

“We're leaving.” Armand helped him dress, lovingly sliding wool socks onto his cold feet before slipping his shoes on, tying them with the care and precision of a craftsman.

“Armand....” Strong arms urged him forward, out of the room. Just as he left the bedroom he saw a candle tip over if its own accord. He almost wondered if he imagined it until he smelled the growing acrid char of smoke and the glint of fire behind him.

“Armand!” As they walked down the hall, they passed the kitchen. The lights were on and sprawled on the gleaming tile was the Viscomte, still wrapped in his heavy robe, eyes closed. Shards of glass mingled with water sprayed out in a glittering sheet just beyond his fingertips. Daniel skidded to a halt, and tried to pull away from Armand.

“Armand! What did you do to him? No, don't. Stop that, you bastard. Let go!” He tried to pull away, to go to the Viscomte. “What did you do?”

“It doesn't matter. He deserves it for hurting you.” Armand wrestled him into that black wool coat that he had worn earlier. It was still damp from the snow, and it made Daniel shiver as he pulled it on. 

“No, Armand. It's not like... Wait, you can't leave him here. Armand. Armand!” But he couldn't win against Armand, no matter how much he struggled. That cold hand was like a vise on his wrist and he couldn't pull away, couldn't resist no matter how much he wanted to. He looked back through the open front door and saw only darkness. He wondered how fast the fire was spreading and how much time the Viscomte had left, even if he had time enough.

Armand hurried him through the blowing snow, zigzagging through narrow back streets for an indeterminate amount of blocks before they came to hired car idling at the curb.

“Get in, Daniel.”

“But Armand...”

“Shhh...Daniel, you're overwrought.” Armand reached up to press his palm against Daniel's cheek. “You've been through a lot on account of that man. But I'm here now. Everything's all right.” And even knew Daniel knew that wasn't the case, something inside of him seemed to ease a little. It was all right. Armand would take care of everything.

He clambered into the car. Armand always thought of everything; he had plenty of room for his long legs despite being in the back seat. There was something cozy about it, something familiar about Armand being at his side, but he realized he could not stop shivering.

His breath fogged the window as he stared up; the golden lights of Paris melted away into a white blur as the snow came down harder.

Armand drew Daniel toward him He shifted, lying back so that his head was pillowed in Armand's lap. Armand took his hand and ran his lips along the inside of his wrist. “Ah, Daniel...” His breath seemed hot against Daniel's chilled skin. “It's been so long...”

“Yes, Armand...” And he gasped, feeling the fang teeth sink into his skin and immediately he could feel his body heat up and when Armand was done he hooked his arm around Armand's neck, drawing him down for a sharp kiss. He could still taste the faint traces of his own blood in Armand's mouth.

Slowly he relaxed, slowly the beating of his heart didn't seem as though it would drown out the world around him. He wrapped his arms around himself, and closed his eyes.

But just before he fell asleep, he jerked awake, heart pounding, remembering something important.

“Armand...he's...he's still breathing.”

“Quiet, Daniel.”

“Armand, we have to-” 

“It's all right. Let me take care of it.” And those cold, gentle fingers stroked through his hair and slowly he forgot everything.

The next time he woke up, he was in New York.

*****

Somehow they made it to an apartment in Chelsea. Daniel could barely remember the last hour of the trip; the cacophony of the airport, the fitful, jerking starts and stops of traffic. Armand disappeared quickly after he had half-carried Daniel into the bedroom. It was not until much later that Daniel realized that Armand had left because the sun was coming up.

Inside, he shrugged off the long coat he had been wearing, leaving it crumpled on the ground. Stepping away, he noticed his wrist was caught in the sleeve. Struggling with the coat, he managed to pull it off and he found the dark violet tie still tangled around his wrist, crumpled against his wrinkled white shirtsleeve.

He stared at it for a long moment, before shoving it under the mattress where he thought Armand wouldn't find it.

Half-heartedly, he made an attempt to undress before collapsing on the bed. 

Miserable, he pressed his face against the cool cotton surface of a pillow. He knew that there was something important that he couldn't seem to recall, but when he tried to remember, it was as though he had been emptied inside. It was as if the entire world he knew had condensed into the ache in his limbs and the cold that had seeped into his bones. 

Struggling, he squirmed his way under the blankets, trying to get comfortable, trying to warm up. Slowly, slowly he started feeling a little better and that deep emptiness inside seemed to ease a little.

He closed his eyes.

Outside it was snowing. The snow silenced everything but he could still hear the distant sound of traffic murmuring through the streets with a soft rumble.

*****

He didn't so much hear Armand come in as he felt Armand come in. Like a moment of nullity moving through the room, a presence that was not a presence. A ghost.

“Daniel...” Armand sat down on the bed, his weight depressing the mattress lightly. 

“No...go away.” Daniel tried to turn away but he was sweating and shivering, too cold, too hot.

“It's all right, Daniel. I'm here.” Armand shifted, bringing his legs up and lying down beside Daniel, moving into Daniel's arms. “I'm here.” 

“You feel good.” Daniel pressed his cheek against Armand's cool forehead, sighing. He wrapped his arms tight around Armand and it was as though he could feel the heat melt away from him, soaking into Armand.

“My poor Daniel.” Armand stroked Daniel's pale hair. Daniel had only the faintest roughness of stubble clinging to his jaw, and his mussed hair had been cut and clipped in a slick modern style that suited him. Even his ruined clothes were new. That man had taken good care of him. 

Daniel shifted, so he could move closer to Armand, so he could press his entire body against Armand. The fever was burning up inside Daniel, and Armand felt the twinge of that old fear, the fear of sickness and the death it brought. So often over the years he had seen Daniel shrug off coughs and chills that it had made him wonder at the strength of these modern mortals.

Death. His fingers brushed through Daniel's hair and Daniel sighed, turning so Armand's hand moved against his cheek. Just hiding under the skin, just beyond the bones. He wondered if he pressed his ear to Daniel's chest, if he could hear the little cells inside of him slowly dying, bursting and floating away.

“I won't let you.” Armand kissed his eyelids, speaking so softly that it was more for his own sake than Daniel's. “Not right now.” And he made that little cut on his throat and guided Daniel to to it. Daniel's dry lips moved against him, at first sluggish, but then he caught the taste of it and his mouth moved hungry.

The fever broke quickly after that. He let Daniel rest for a few hours, drowsing in his arms.

“Wake up, Daniel.” Armand untangled himself, pulling Daniel out of bed.

Sluggishly, Daniel stood up, swaying slightly. “Armand...?”

“Come.” He helped Daniel into the bathroom. “You'll feel better, I promise.”

Daniel leaned against cold marble counter, drinking water from the sink as Armand filled the deep tub. He watched Daniel drink, hands cupped under the torrent of water, taking greedy mouthfuls, making all the enticing muscles in his throat move as he drank. 

He helped Daniel out of his filthy clothes. Daniel was so gentle and compliant that it made Armand smile a little as he tugged off Daniel's socks, tossing them aside. 

“Here, let me...” He helped Daniel into the water, and Daniel shuddered all over at the sensation and Armand could just about feel it himself, the little quivers of pleasure that ran up and down Daniel's skin.

Daniel leaned back in the tub, soaking in the heat while Armand stripped down, and a moment later he joined Daniel in the bath.

“That's nice, isn't it?” He tilted Daniel's head back, dampening his hair to wash it.

“Yeah, it's nice. Really....” Daniel sighed, letting Armand do as he pleased, running his hands through Daniel's wet hair, over every part of Daniel's body, exploring it with curious fingers. A man's body; his to live through.

The old outburst of conflicting feelings that erupted in Daniel whenever Armand had touched him in the past was gone. Replaced with what was first a lazy acceptance, and then a growing, ravenous desire.

Now they could be lovers, truly.

Daniel stared at him with hungry eyes, looking at him as though he had never seen Armand before. 

Armand smiled.

“Come, Daniel.” He held out his arms for Daniel, and a moment later the hot shock of Daniel's body pressed against his limbs, and a hungry mouth moved on his.

*****

_Night Island, 1984_

The package had arrived in a thick Fedex envelope. It sat on Daniel's cluttered desk for almost a month before he noticed the follow-up letters from his publisher, asking him for a response. He pulled out a thick sheaf of loose papers, bound together by a heavy-duty binder clip. A publisher's proof. He wondered if this was some new edition of that book, until he skimmed the cover letter. Something about copyright infringement, wanted permission to pursue legal action against a new author...it seemed that many characters in this new book were the same as the ones from his book.

He blinked; it couldn't be true. He read it again.

Cautiously, he flipped past the cover letter to the first page. There it was, plain as day.

The Vampire Lestat

He could feel his hands tremble. Shakily, he opened it at random and read a few lines. The words, the language. It was as though he could hear them through Louis' voice, tinted with that soft French accent. 

This was the real thing. It had to be.

Thankful that Armand was out hunting, Daniel slipped the sheaf of papers back into the Fedex envelope, guiltily shoved it and a few articles of clothing into a bag, and left on the first outbound plane to Tokyo.

He resisted reading it on the plane by knocking himself out with sleeping pills and a slug of bourbon. 

When he arrived in Tokyo, he took a cab to a nice business hotel near the airport with his usual trick, taking a magazine from the airplane and pointing at the picture and address of what looked like a promising hotel. 

He flopped down on the bed with his bag and drew out the Fedex envelope reverently. He started at the beginning and quickly grew impatient. He began to flip through the manuscript, looking for that name.

There it was, Armand. He backtracked a few pages to find the beginning thread of the story.

Greedily, he devoured it, page after page, enthralled with all the various little details of Armand's past. All the things Armand refused to tell him, all of Armand's secrets, neatly cataloged and described. He tried to imagine Armand reading this and it made him blush, embarrassed for Armand's sake. Lestat had not been kind.

He read through to the end of Armand's story. Carefully laying the manuscript aside, he shifted to lay at an angle so his legs didn't hang off the edge of the too-short bed.

He closed his eyes, exhausted. 

It was almost too much to take in all at once. He imagined Armand, back on Night Island, on the other side of the world, waiting for him to come home. He wondered if he could go back, with this headful of knowledge. That when Armand looked at him, he could see Lestat's words floating through his mind in a jumble of memory.

He made up his mind. He dialed up the front desk and with the help of the concierge, he called his publisher and left a message. 

He had no objections. Let it be published.

A hollow victory. He imagined Lestat out there somewhere, awake perhaps. Was it night yet back home? He felt that it must be night somewhere.

The sun was rising in Tokyo. He watched the golden morning light slowly pour over the city, filling in all the little cracks and crevices of the tall buildings. He wondered what people were doing. Were they asleep in their beds still? Waking up to get ready for work? He had only a passing intellectual curiosity; he had been detached from normal life for years. He drew the sun-blocking drapes, darkening the room with artificial night.

He folded back the neat-tucked sheets and climbed under the covers. Not bothering to undress, he closed his eyes, thinking of Armand.

He thought he would dream about the book. Instead, he had a dream that he hadn't had in many years. He was younger and dumber, following Armand as if compelled by an unseen power. They were at a party; something happened, and Armand left him with a man.

The Viscomte. He hadn't dreamed about him in years. In the dream he was as Daniel remembered, tall and blond, broad-shouldered and serious, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbow. He was meticulously posing Daniel's bare limbs, turning Daniel's arm delicately as he tried to explain to Daniel what he wanted. Strong but gentle hands tilting his head up fractionally, and then carefully to the left, just enough so that when the light touched Daniel's ashen hair, he could see how the strands glowed just beyond his own cheek.

The Viscomte stood back for a brief survey before retreating to his easel. He stood as he painted, even as Daniel lay prone. 

Afterward, while the painting was left to dry, the Viscomte had massaged Daniel's sore limbs until he moaned from pleasure. And then they had fucked and Daniel had caught a glimpse of himself on the painting as he came.

Memories melted into each other in his dream and when he woke, he could only think of Marius.

He read the rest of the book on the way back to Night Island.


End file.
